


Notice Me, Notice This

by starkersoulmates



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, James "Rhodey" Rhodes - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Ned Leeds - Freeform, Past Rape/Non-con, mentions of:, natasha romanov - Freeform, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkersoulmates/pseuds/starkersoulmates
Summary: After everything Peter's been through, it's only normal, in his mind, that he finally turns to alcohol to get through it all. He thinks no one notices, but slowly, that's not the case. And when Tony notices, things change.Prompted by this:yo got this request that you ofc don’t have to do if you don’t like it or it’s a trigger/soft spot but like, alcoholic peter parker? aka peter tried drinking and it helps his senses or anxiety or something like that and it just gets worse and worse and tony finds out possible while fighting team cap or something? anyways tony is worried as hell because he doesn’t want peter to be an alcoholic like how he was? something like that. could be irondad but i prefer starker. either would be lit. ty ily





	Notice Me, Notice This

**Author's Note:**

> This was an absolute monster for me to write, not because of the word length, but because alcoholism is such a trigger for me. I don't mind writing it, I love writing it, in fact, but I needed breaks between everything, lol. It's my first starker story, so I hope everyone enjoys. Please be made aware of the tags/triggers. There's mentions of Peter being raped by Skip, not just molested and I changed the deaths of his parents a little, to the point where he saw them murdered in front of him. Both mentions aren't _huge_ mentions, but they are world-building, so if it bothers you, you may want to think about reading or not. Unfortunately, there's no smut in this, but it is obvious starker. If you don't like, don't read, and all hateful comments will be removed. To the nonnie who requested this, I hope you enjoy it, and I'm terribly sorry about the wait ♥

Unlike what most people believed about Peter, the young man was not as innocent as he seemed. If you didn’t include the fact that he had died and come back to life, had felt every agonizing second as his body disintegrated and then reintegrated, Peter Parker had seen a lot in his young life that affected him more than anyone knew, even before he was bitten by a radioactive spider. He had seen his parents killed, though _no one_ knew that - no one knew he had been hiding as his parents were packing to leave and get on a plane. No one knew that little Peter had heard SHIELD come out of his parents' mouths, or that he had seen Hydra agents barge in and brutally kill his parents. No one knew any of that, they just believed he accepted the lie of his parents having been killed in a plane crash. But he knew better, of course. No one knew that he had been molested and raped at such a young age. His aunt believed he had only been molested, Peter never having the courage to tell her what had happened. A tiny load had been taken off his shoulders at his Aunt knowing about the molestation, but it wasn’t enough - it was never enough. Then there was that time at Stark Expo - sure, being saved by your idol, your hero, was one thing, but it’s not like his aunt and uncle had known about it - Peter had known that if he had told them, they would never let him go anywhere ever again, especially not to the rest of Expo, and Peter just couldn’t let that happen. And then there was the spider bite, which you might think wasn’t nearly as traumatizing as all of the other things, but when it put you in bed for five days and had your aunt worried and wondering if the hospital was the right move, well…. It was enough. Then Peter’s uncle was killed in front of him, died in his arms because Peter made the wrong choice and that -- that pushed him over the edge.

So no, Peter wasn’t innocent. He had his first sip of alcohol at the tender age of twelve, wondering what the fuss was all about in a way that only twelve-year old's could. He and Ned had snuck away some of Ned’s father’s beer and other liquors and tried tasting everything. Peter never liked the taste of beer, or vodka, or others, but whiskey? Rum? The sweetness of those was something Peter absolutely enjoyed and would want a sip of again and again -- which, really, probably should have been his first sign. But for two and a half years, he was able to move on with his life, not very interested in remembering the taste of the rum, or how the whiskey burned his throat in a very good way as it went down. Not even when his uncle jokingly offered him a drink when he was thirteen. (Although, if he were to tell you honestly, there were a few times a year he and Ned did have a glass of something - usually when Peter had a terrible nightmare about Westcott or, after his uncle’s death, when the blame game was particularly strong. But that’s if he was being completely honest).

And then The Vulture happened, and his suit was taken away, and he realized he was very attracted to his supposed mentor, long time hero and idol, and then he was stuck under a building with the belief that he was going to die and the first thing he did when he got back that night was grab a glass and the bottle of whiskey Ned had accidentally left last time he’d been over to help Peter out, poured himself a fair amount (definitely more than normal, at least) and drank it all back in one go, relishing in the burn. And sure, after that night, he started drinking a little bit more - who could blame him though, what with the constant nightmares and panic attacks and even his senses constantly being on high, looking for something that wasn’t even there. But he wasn’t addicted, really; he didn’t need the taste of the alcohol on his lips, or the burn the drink provide when going down his throat to get through the day -- honestly.

But then -- then he went to an alien planet against his mentor’s will, snuck on because he thought he was doing something right, and he died. He disintegrated, and he felt every painstaking moment of said disintegration. Could feel it in his bones, down to the marrow, and it completely sucked, especially because of his fear, and Mr. Stark’s arms around him, and the look on his face, and absolutely nothing was changing this, he thought. He was dying. He was sixteen and dying and there was no coming back from that. But then he _did_ come back from that, and he was alone (though not really, since everyone who dusted on the planet came back on the planet, but he was still _alone_, in the sense that Mr. Stark was gone) and the first thought he had after _ow_ and _fuck_ and _where’s Mr. Stark_ was, quite worryingly, _damn I need a drink_. That should have been an obvious hint, to be honest. But Peter couldn’t think about that; no, he didn’t have _time_ to think about that, because Strange was telling him that he needed to fight again against Thanos, that everyone was, and he was opening a portal, and Mr. Stark was there, about to get _hurt_ and he just couldn’t let that happen, not when he had just come back. And then Peter had no time to think, no time to do anything, because he was fighting and running and then worrying because Mr. Stark was -- the thought was almost too much to think about, but everything was _fine_, and Mr. Stark was alive, even if his hand and arm were a little bit damaged, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed.

And that was more than fine. Even if it required Mr. Stark to be in the medical bay for quite a while. It was _absolutely_ fine. (It wasn’t, though. Not even a bit. And Peter should have realized that when he was drinking two glasses of whiskey a day within the first week of returning, both to deal with Mr. Stark nearly dying and the nightmares and memories Peter was going through). 

But what felt like very slowly, time passed. Mr. Stark got better, Peter dealt with going from 17 to 21 in the span of what felt like a second and he began planning what to do with the time he missed with school and friends. And most importantly, Peter began drinking more and more whiskey to get through the days. The nightmares were too much, the guilt over Mr. Stark feeling guilty about bringing him into this world, the reminders of what it was like to die, _everything_ was too much for the young man, and the only way he was able to truly get through it was with the sweet taste and burn of his drink of choice.

It had been quite a while of drinking whiskey when he could before it ended up turning into Peter buying a reusable water bottle and filling that up with the amber liquid, and that -- that was when it all turned to shit. At first, it was Ned who noticed. Peter shouldn’t have been surprised, not when it was Ned who knew what to look for, knew what Peter was like when he was drunk. Sure, he hadn’t gotten drunk a whole lot, especially post spider-bite, since it took a _lot_ more alcohol to get him to that point but Ned -- Ned knew, and his best friend saw, and worried. He worried a lot. And he had every right to worry, because by the time Ned realized what was going on, Peter was drinking enough whiskey to get drunk (which was a lot), but also drinking whatever he could get his hands on, since his supply of the drink was running low and he needed to ration it as best as he could (not like it was hard though, with Mr. Stark having a literal wall of alcohol accessible in his home. Sure, he felt guilty for stealing, especially whenever Friday tsked disapprovingly at him but, what else could he do?)

Fortunately, though, there wasn’t much that Ned could do to get his friend some help. Peter was thankful for his friend, understood where he was coming from but Ned ...Ned didn’t understand where Peter was coming from, or what he had gone through. He didn’t understand just how much Peter needed the feeling the alcohol always provided, or how it made it easier to just...forget. Everything.

MJ noticed next - possibly because of Ned, but more than likely because Peter drunkenly kissed her cheek one day and they both knew how out of character that was for him. He had acted like it was nothing, but MJ was not nothing but observant, and had noticed the stench coming from him. Sure, she had stayed quiet, but… Peter wasn’t an idiot. He knew she knew, and with his shitty luck, he knew that eventually, more people would come to realize just how dependent Peter was becoming to alcohol. (He was lucky he was living in the compound, admittedly, since May had moved into a one room apartment after he dusted away, and there was no space because May would have realized how dependent he had become).

And boy, was Peter becoming dependent. He had a water bottle - not clear, obviously, but darkened, that he put his drink in. And he usually filled it back up at least seven times, his eyes glazing over by the sixth time, even though it was way more than six cups at that point. He filled the bottle up immediately upon waking, and usually fell asleep with it in his hands, that’s how bad it had gotten. He drank from it so often, he forgot to look around him, at everyone else, forgot to even patrol properly, sloppy each night in a way that worried the Avengers.

The Avengers were -- well, a whole other thing. To them, Peter was still a young and inexperienced teenager he was before it all started, before everything. They didn’t believe that he could handle things, or that he was deeply affected by everything and during the time where Mr. Stark was healing, they didn’t tell him everything, going to Rhodey or Pepper or even Happy instead - and they sure as hell didn’t realize just how much Peter was slipping; how the nightmares were affecting him and how much help he truly needed. They went about their days, rebuilding their lives and other people’s lives, all while not realizing that their youngest, even if not _officially_, was going somewhere dark and scary and was alone the entire way down.

The only person who would have noticed was Mr. Stark and that -- that was something Peter didn’t want. He could keep a secret - see his past traumatization's, of course, but he knew that this drinking was well past what Mr. Stark wanted. Not in the grey area, not in any area other than the more obvious, you’re being like your idol, in a way he wouldn’t want, and Peter couldn’t handle that, or the disappointment that would obviously come if Mr. Stark found out. So, he continued drinking, continued trying not to feel. Continued trying his hardest to become incredibly numb.

Except, Peter didn’t consider that Tony Stark was a genius. And when the older man finally got himself fixed up physically, and the best he could fix himself up mentally, well -- Tony Stark was a genius, and he recognized the signs, and the scents and _every fucking thing else_ that Peter was so obviously trying to hide.

And it hurt. A hell of a lot. Because he had no damn clue on how to fix it. Or help the younger man. Especially when it was damn clear that Peter thought no one had known, that he had gotten away with it.

Because he hadn’t. Not when it came to Tony Stark. 

* * *

“I gotta know Cap, were you paying any amount of attention to anyone other than yourself and your own team members? Because if you were, then you sure as hell would’ve noticed this,” Peter hears Mr. Stark snap as he steps into the room hesitantly, the spider hairs on his skin raising at the tension that’s incredibly palpable throughout. He finds himself blinking in surprise when he steps further into the room, noticing Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes standing side by side, with the Captain, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Barton, Ms. Maximoff, and Vision on the other side. He nearly sways, holds onto the bottle in his hands a little more tightly than normal before he gulps, confusion coursing through him as the Captain crosses his arms in front of him. Something about this scene doesn’t feel right, and he wonders and worries, unable to take a step back but wanting to. As quiet as he is when he enters the room, he notices the Colonel and Ms. Romanoff, who's standing slightly off center from the group, look towards him during his entrance.

“We’ve done all we --”

“You’ve done _nothing_, Rogers. If you had done something, anything, we wouldn’t be where we are now,” Mr. Stark snaps and Peter finds himself frowning, wishing he could openly drink from his bottle without the watchful eyes of Ms. Romanoff. There’s a small ache of jealousy, though he’s never known if there was a reason it should be there. His heart pounds in his chest and his fingers clench against the neck of the bottle but he remains still and tries to calm his breathing, not sure when he started to breathe heavily. 

“How could you know what we’ve done when you’ve been getting better?” Captain Rogers says, voice tight with tension that Peter still doesn’t understand, brow furrowing as Mr. Stark growls, steps closer and looks towards him with… a look he’s never seen directed towards him before. His heart stops in that moment -- he can feel it, and he can’t believe he’s still standing here, not collapsed on the floor because Mr. Stark is still looking at him, as is everyone else and he doesn’t -- he feels like he can’t breath, feels like everyone knows his secret.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he hears, and he can’t help but wonder when Mr. Stark got so close, or when he started having a panic attack. There are people crowding him, and then there aren’t, and then the bottle that was in his hands is gone and there’s a small whimper coming from him because all he wants is a goddamn drink and that --- that won’t be good for him.

“Pete--” He hears Mr. Stark say and he looks down at the older man, frowning when he realizes that Mr. Stark is kneeling in front of him. When did that happen? How did that happen? Mr. Stark lets out a small snort and oh, apparently, he’s speaking out loud. How fun.

“More like slurring, Pete,” Mr. Stark responds with a frown of his own. Peter finds himself gulping, falling to the ground in a heap before looking up at Mr. Stark with wide eyes, pupils blown as his failure courses through him. He should’ve known, he thinks. Of course, Mr. Stark would’ve seen the signs, would’ve recognized what he was hiding.

“M’sorr--” Peter begins, only to stop when he sees the older man shaking his head.

“No. I’m sorry. Should’ve tried -- I don’t know, kid, should have just. Talked to you while I was healing. Clearly, no one was remembering to talk to you themselves,” he snips, glaring towards the Captain, who shifts uncomfortably. Peter looks over at them briefly, before looking back at Mr. Stark, still completely confused.

“Alright, c’mon,” Mr. Stark states, standing up and slowly helping Peter up at the same time, catching him when he nearly stumbles, not used to the imbalance of drinking so much, which -- fuck, was probably the first sign, if he’s being honest. Screwing up his face, he tries to think about it for a few minutes, tries to think about it from Mr. Stark’s point of view and -- suddenly he’s in front of Mr. Stark’s bedroom and _huh_.

“You were pretty out of it, Pete. From the constant alcohol to the panic attack…” Mr. Stark begins, frowning before opening his bedroom door and walking the two of them to his bed, depositing Peter upon it softly, closing his eyes when he makes a choked off sound. He flushes red, embarrassment coursing through him and all he wants to do is call himself a damn idiot for even making a noise but before anything can be done, Mr. Stark is in front of him again, kissing the top of his head and hovering there for a few minutes.

“Go to sleep, Peter.” Mr. Stark ends up whispering and he doesn’t want to, he wants to stay up and piece together what he saw in the common area but before he can even get the words out, Mr. Stark is pushing him down onto the bed and he’s closing his eyes, falling asleep.

* * *

Tony Stark watches Peter Parker like a hawk. He had noticed the signs early on - how could he not, after all, but when he saw that no one was doing anything, that his -- that Peter was suffering alone, he could feel an anger swell up inside of him because he couldn’t do _anything_ and Peter was alone, and not willing to change that. And so, all he could do was continue to watch as Peter suffered and crumbled and circled the proverbial alcoholic drain. 

Tony Stark was a man of action though, and everyone knew that. Which is why he couldn’t stand to see his boy in the amount of pain he was going through, and why he had confronted Captain and his group as to why the hell they didn’t bother checking in on the younger man. He had known the instant Peter had walked into the room, could feel it within his body, and while it was something he didn’t want to think about a lot of the time, he knew -- he knew why he felt that tingle. (And he hated using the word tingle, made him sound like a damn teenager but when he was around Peter… well.)

And then Peter is slurring his words, and his body is swaying, and it takes Tony less than a second to get to the young man and hold him, tell him that everything will be fine, even if Peter can’t truly hear him. Cradling Peter is effortless, and Tony barely glances around the room, ignoring the stares of disapproval coming from most of Steve’s side as he lets out a breath of frustration and lifts the younger man while he stands. He knows he’d rather do this somewhere private, somewhere Peter won’t end up embarrassed (though he knows Peter will be embarrassed enough as it is) and with a foot forward, he nods towards his best friend, who only nods back before he makes his way to his private quarters, thanking some deity, somewhere, that his best friend is so god damn understanding of him.

Tony finds his way to his private quarters quickly, and he’s never been more thankful for his AI’s, especially when they can tell how urgent he needs something done without him even saying anything. He looks down at Peter, a frown on his face as he wonders how long the younger man will stay unconscious, but thankful that he got to the young hero on time. Placing him down onto the bed, Tony briefly imagines all of the things they could be doing on the bed, something that occurs often, admittedly, before he shakes his head and lets out a small breath, before he stills momentarily, his heart pounding inside his chest as he tries to figure out what to do next. Time ticks by slowly as Tony watches the man he’s grown to love, a fact that scares the hell out of him. He walks away, his back turning quickly as he sucks back a breath and heads towards the kitchen, fingers itching to cook something, forget everything that’s on his mind. It’s not something he does often, cook to forget, always preferring to work with mechanical tools instead but he doesn’t want to stray too far from Peter, wants to be there when he wakes up, hungover and confused and everything else that occurs with being an alcoholic. 

A small sigh escapes from the older man as he begins to move pots and pans around his kitchen, looking for food to cook to distract himself, eyes straying towards Peter ever few seconds to make sure he looks okay, he’s alright, there’s nothing wrong, incredibly thankful that his private area is open space. Eventually, Tony gets caught in cooking, his mind empty with everything but the recipes he’s making, which is exactly what he wanted. The sun has set, and he’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize immediately that Peter is stirring, not until a small groan is released and he looks up immediately, eyes wide before a small, worrying smile forms. He finishes off the recipe as best as he can, thankful that he was at a point where the food just needed to rest now as he turned off the stove and the oven and slowly made his way towards the younger man. He knew, of course, that Peter was going to have one hell of an emotional hangover, and a small sympathetic smile formed on his face as he walked towards the man slowly, not completely sure if Peter would be all that interested in having him around as he woke up. The minutes tick by as Tony finds himself enraptured while Peter wakes, his hands rubbing at his eyes as a small groan escapes from him. Tony cringes, wishing, not for the first time, that normal human medicines worked on the Spiderling, before he shakes his head and lets himself relax.

Knowing he still has a few minutes before Peter truly lets his senses wake him up, Tony looks at the man with his heart in his chest, his mind wondering through all the moments they shared that helped Tony fall in love with him. Sure, it’s not something he likes to think about when he’s around other people, but right now, with not one single soul paying attention to him… Tony doesn’t mind thinking about those moments, doesn’t mind wondering what it would be like if the feelings were reciprocated as something more than just a hero-worship crush.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony hears and he finds himself blinking back into the moment, kneeling in front of Peter and looking at him with a small frown, still disappointed over the smell of the alcohol coming from Peter’s breath. He wishes he had known, seen the signs much earlier, but he hadn’t, and now the two of them had to live with the repercussions of that -- Peter, with the urge to not drink and Tony, with the disappointment he felt within himself for not being there for the younger man.

“Tony?” He hears and his eyes flick to Peter’s immediately, a small smile gracing his face, partially because hearing the kid say his name is always nice, partially because he hates that Peter said it _now_ of all times.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks, his voice quiet as he looks over Peter with a careful eye, biting his lower lip while his mind whirls with the possibilities. He can see the moment that reality sinks into Peter, his face turning a nice shade of red that Tony, admittedly, would love to see where it goes. He shakes the thought away though, knows that now is not the time, will never be the right time for something like that and instead, focuses on the younger man as he awaits an answer.

He doesn’t have to wait long, of course not, because Peter has never kept him waiting long for anything, and this is -- well, one of those moments.

“Like shit,” Tony hears, a small chuckle escaping from him. Peter might not have been unconscious long enough for him to be truly hungover, but he was feeling it anyways, thanks to his healing abilities. “Is there any chance you can save the talk for later? Tomorrow, preferably,” Peter questions with a snort as Tony shakes his head and runs his fingers through the man’s hair, unable to stop himself from doing so in that moment, his heart thudding as Peter looks up at him with wide eyes. Eyes that Tony could get lost in, eyes that held so much curiosity and wonder.

“Wasn’t planning on giving you a talk, Pete, but yeah, we can save it for tomorrow if you really want to,” Tony whispers, a frown on his face as his shoulders shrug, and he can see Peter frowning, trying to piece together something, and Tony----

“What were you going to do, if not a talk?” Peter interrupts his thought and Tony smiles softly. 

“Was going to ask if you were okay. If _you_ wanted to talk in general, about the PTSD you’re going through. If you wanted help.” Tony admits, voice soft as Peter slowly sits up, dislodging Tony’s hand from his hair. Tony frowns, briefly, looking at Peter who is only looking back, something in his eyes that makes Tony feel more uncomfortable than what he likes. 

“Really?” Peter questions and Tony finds himself nodding, not completely sure what else he could say, and why Peter seems to believe him but be in disbelief also.

“I know what it’s like, kid,” Tony mutters, still very much frowning before his face relaxes as Peter scrunches his nose up at the nickname, something Tony finds completely adorable, even if he doesn’t want to. 

“You know I’m _not_ a kid, right?” Peter asks, doing his best to sit up and glare lightly at the man, Tony laughing at the sight that that provides.

“Course I do. But it’s a nickname, just like Pete.” Tony responds, voice soft and head tilted as he watches Peter continue to move until he’s sitting right in front of Tony, legs on each side of him, blocking him from moving -- not that he would, of course.

“When did you realize what was going on with me?” Peter asks, and Tony can’t help but note at how vulnerable the man sounds, how insecure, and all he wants to do is take Peter into his arms and hold him, tell him they can work through this together, that Peter doesn’t have to do it alone -- not like Tony did.

“Shortly after I was up and about. You weren’t acting the same, and sure, I could have concluded that to the five years going by but then I could smell the stench of whisky, and I knew. So, I started paying better attention and --” Tony lets out a small breath of frustration here, rubbing his face as his eyes grow tired -- “I wish I had been able to be there for you. Which is why I’m here now.” He finishes, looking at Peter carefully, watching for his reactions.

“You’d be surprised, about how much you _had_ been there for me, Mr. Stark. Even if you weren’t physically there,” Peter responds, voice barely loud enough to be heard. But Tony heard it all of the same and he found himself leaning back, eyes widening just a little before a small smile escapes from him, and his body leans forward.

“Good. So, let me be there for you now, physically,” Tony states, standing up with a groan and holding out his hand, which Peter grabs immediately, yanking him up. He’ taken by surprise once more though when Peter’s arms wrap around his waist, eyes blinking owlishly before he places his own arms around Peter’s shoulders, taking in the man’s scent and relaxing a little. 

The two stay like that for a couple of minutes before pulling away, Peter doing so first while biting on his lower lip and staring at Tony and Tony -- Tony knows what that means, of course he does, and he lets out a small laugh before leaning forward and kissing Peter himself, the kiss slow and languid and full of promise for a future that Peter can have. The moment Peter begins to put more into the kiss though, Tony pulls away with a groan -- disappointment in himself for doing so but pride, for being able to do so. 

“Eat first, then talk, then kissing. I promise you that, kid,” Tony whispers, kissing Peter’s forehead as his shoulders sag and Tony grins.

“Not a kid,” Peter responds into Tony’s chest, and Tony can feel the smirk, and he lets out another laugh.

“Trust me, I know,” Tony states, letting himself pull Peter closer, letting Peter feel him at half mass while Peter lets out a small groan. They pull away after another few minutes of staying like that, and head towards the kitchen and the food that Tony cooked, Peter letting out another moan as the smells waft towards him. Right now, everything is good, but Tony’s not an idiot. And neither is Peter. Both of them know the talk will be long and hard, and that there will be hard times and easy times but for them, as long as they’re together (and Peter is adamant that they will be, he thinks) things will be more than alright, no matter the hardness.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://starkersoulmates.tumblr.com)


End file.
